


The Other Side

by PenguinofProse



Series: Fix-it fics for S7 [5]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Does this count as Ark AU?, Episode AU 7.13 Blood Giant, F/M, Family, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, It's all a simulation, Transcendence is a lie, fields of gold
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:48:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26995435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenguinofProse/pseuds/PenguinofProse
Summary: Companion piece to "Fields of Gold" from Bellamy's point of view. In which the whole show was a simulation, and we follow Bellamy along the rocky road to recovery on the Ark.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, Minor Bellamy Blake/Echo - Relationship, Minor Octavia Blake/Jasper Jordan - Relationship
Series: Fix-it fics for S7 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1927285
Comments: 28
Kudos: 175





	The Other Side

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OnlyZouzou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnlyZouzou/gifts).



> This is a companion piece to "Fields of Gold". It probably still makes sense without reading that first, but I think you'll appreciate it more if you go read that! We're picking up from the end of 7.13. Huge thanks to Stormkpr for betaing this. Happy reading!
> 
> Content note: depression, suicidal ideation, bereavement, anxiety, and the kinds of heavy topics you'd expect from a fic set in the 100 universe.

It's a strange business, crossing over to the other side.

One moment, Bellamy is looking Clarke right in the eyes as a bullet tears through his chest. It hurts. It hurts so much, in so many ways, all at once. And then he's dimly aware of falling, of the cold stone rushing up to meet his limp body.

But then he's blinking his eyes open under a harsh yellow light. He's comfortable, warm, reclining on some kind of chair. He's _physically_ comfortable, at least – he's far less comfortable with the look he remembers seeing in Clarke's eyes.

He frowns at the ceiling. Does the afterlife have a ceiling? This is not what he expected, to say the least. It's nothing like his encounter with his mother on Etherea. It's more mundane somehow, less spiritual.

Distinctly _drab_.

"Welcome back, Bellamy. Lie still a couple more minutes and we'll get you out of here."

That's even more unexpected. That's Kane's voice, no doubt about it. Why is Kane here?

Where is _here_ , anyway?

"Welcome back to the Ark." That sounds like Jaha, but that's even more insane, Bellamy thinks. It kind of makes sense that he might conjure Kane in some kind of dying hallucination. They were friends, more often than not. But _Jaha_?

At last, his brain catches up with the content of that sentence, rather than staying stuck on the voice that said it.

"The Ark?" He asks, confused. This is definitely not what he expected from transcendence, or heaven, or death, or whatever the hell is on the other side.

"You're on the Ark." Kane confirms gently.

No. No. He knows that everyone he loves thinks he's gone crazy, since Etherea. But he's absolutely certain he hasn't gone _this_ crazy.

He starts thrashing, trying to break free. Why is he restrained, anyway? What the hell is going on here?

"Bellamy. Lie still and let us get you out of there." Kane repeats his earlier request.

Bellamy subsides a little. He doesn't have a whole lot of options here, it seems.

Jaha speaks up. "It's normal to experience denial at first. You're on the Ark – you've been engaged in a simulation. I started it a couple of years ago to find out what would happen if we went to the ground. It's been most educational – I thank you for playing your part, as I thank every citizen of the Ark."

Bellamy's first thought on learning all that is a grim one, but there's no denying it.

He wishes he never woke up.

He wishes that wasn't a simulation at all. He wishes he was dead, gone, sleeping. He wishes his fight was over – he has no interest in returning to the unpleasant life he knew as a young man, and certainly not with all this fresh grief and trauma to contend with, too.

But then his head catches up with his heart, and he realises it is more complicated than that.

"What do you mean? What was real and what wasn't?"

Again, it is Jaha who answers. "The first event of the simulation was the news about the oxygen fault – no such fault exists. So everything you remember up until then was real. All the people you know from the Ark, they're real."

He understands the implication of that all too well.

"And the people we met on Earth?"

"Part of the programme." Jaha offers, concise and almost careless, as if his words have no weight.

To be clear, that's not true. Not _at all_ true. They hit Bellamy with a heavy punch to the guts, because he knows what they mean. Echo was never real. Neither was Emori, or Indra, or anyone else he met on Earth and cared about.

And yet that's not even the worse thing.

"So I'm waking up because I died?" He surmises, frowning.

"Yes. We disconnect participants when they die in the simulation." Jaha agrees.

"So – so my friends? They're still inside?"

"They will remain there as long as they survive in the simulation." Jaha confirms.

All at once, Bellamy is pleased that he woke up after all. Or perhaps not _pleased_ so much as relieved. Because suddenly it strikes him that he still has a part to play, here, in protecting the people he cares about. Octavia and Miller and Raven and Murphy are still inside, and he has to get them out of there.

Clarke's still in there, too.

No. He mustn't dwell on that. She _killed_ him – he shouldn't be hung up on her wellbeing.

He is, though. He can imagine her weeping and trembling at this very moment. Reeling from killing him, no doubt, losing her mind in grief and guilt. And he's worried about that – frantic, even – because he knows she's already struggling to hold it together. It's been obvious in her every word and action since he returned from Etherea, or possibly even before.

Well, then. He knows what he needs to say.

"Let them out." He demands, tone low and dangerous.

"I won't do that." Jaha says, infuriatingly calm.

"Let them out, now. Let them out or I swear I will smash this place to pieces."

"Really, Bellamy. Don't make threats you can't follow through on. You need the equipment in this facility intact to get them out of there safely without damaging their minds. And you won't have much luck protesting – a few of your friends are in lockup for protests relating to the simulations right now. Jasper, Monty and Harper. Wells."

Wells? _Wells_? Jaha has thrown his own son in the skybox over protests about this horrific large-scale torture?

Before Bellamy has had a chance to process, before he has any hope of shaping a reply, Jaha has left the room.

"Let me get these restraints off you." Kane says mildly, and Bellamy feels him working the straps at his ankles. It's an odd sensation, really, to have an old friend he thought was dead untying him from a chair.

Is Kane his friend? Or is he more a kind boss, or well-meaning but slightly heavy-handed patron?

Bellamy pushes that question aside. It seems like the least of his problems, right now.

"I have to get O and Clarke out of there." He seems to remember he meant to mention his other friends, too, but somehow those are the only two names that come out of his mouth.

"You can't, Bellamy. It won't work – plenty of people have tried. But you've got people here to support you while you get used to it."

 _Get used to it_? He has no intention of allowing himself to become accustomed to sitting around on the Ark while the people he loves are living through hell.

Kane continues to speak, either oblivious, or deciding there is no point in allowing Bellamy to wallow. "You should start by going to see Abby and Jake. I can tell you're worried about Clarke, and you'll feel better for sharing that with them. Do you want directions to their quarters?"

Bellamy shakes his head. He shakes his head not because he doesn't want directions, as such, but because this is all moving far too quickly for him.

"Why are you here? Are you just here to give me directions?"

"I'm here to give you _support._ " Kane clarifies. "And I'll be here for you while you're adjusting, too. I don't agree with everything Jaha has done. But I do agree with him that it's important to have someone who cares about you here to help you take your first steps back out into the Ark."

Bellamy considers that for a moment. Kane cares about him – he supposes that's not news. He looked out for him, back on Earth, as best as he could. And he wants to help Bellamy adjust.

What an absurd joke.

There will be no _adjusting_ to any of this, Bellamy's pretty sure. How is he supposed to even begin to adjust to the idea that he betrayed the love of his life over a faith that was never real, then got fatally shot by her for his trouble? It's insane. There's no way he's supposed to just chat to Kane for a bit then get on with his life as if nothing has happened.

He shakes his head, freed from the chair now. He turns to look Kane right in the eyes.

"You think I should go talk to Abby and Jake." It feels weird to call Clarke's father by name, when they have never met before.

"Yes."

Well, then. It's probably as good an idea as any – it's not as if Bellamy has many loved ones who are both real and awake, in this moment. And it sounds like a better plan than going straight back to his quarters alone. If what Jaha said about the start time of the simulation is true, then Bellamy's quarters must be empty, his mother long since floated.

"You said – you said I should go to _their place_. You said it like they live together." He prompts, too emotionally exhausted for subtlety.

"They do." Kane swallows loudly. "They're together. And that's – it's fine. We've worked it out. They're happy together, and I want that for them. I loved Abby, so I want the best for her."

Bellamy feels tears sting at his eyes. He wishes that his relationship with Clarke was that simple – that they could love each other in that clean, uncomplicated way that means only wanting each other to be happy.

As it is, he's here, feeling nothing but sadness on her account.

…...

He does go to visit the Griffins. Of course he does – he has nothing else to do, no other way of taking his mind of things. This will stop him from fixating on his turbulent emotions, he hopes, and it's not as if he has anyone else to visit. Now he comes to think about it, as he walks the hallways, he decides it's a little pathetic that Kane – his former commanding officer, and sometimes mentor – was the only person who cares about him who could be there to see him disconnected.

It takes him a long time to find the apartment. It's not as if he's ever spent much time in Alpha Station. While he searches for the address Kane provided, he tries not to revisit that thought he had on first learning about the simulation. He tries not to let himself wonder whether it might have been simpler not to wake up at all.

No. He mustn't think like that. He has things to do, people to protect. He needs to start thinking through everything that has happened.

He starts with the faith he found on Etherea. So much for that. He feels utterly humiliated to realise that the faith he staked his life on was actually Jaha manipulating him via some computer code. He supposes that the vision he saw of his mother was all code, that the storm and the anomaly and the towering mountainside were code.

Doucette was code. The only friend he had, on Bardo.

Thankfully, he arrives at the Griffins' apartment before he can start thinking of the friendships he lost on Bardo. He steels his courage, knocks at the door. There's no sense in putting this off.

Then again, there's been no sense in the rest of his day, either.

The door is opened by a surprisingly tall man with tousled hair. He has Clarke's eyes, something familiar about the lines of his face, but that's where the resemblance ends.

"Bellamy. Come on in." He says, as if they are old friends.

Bellamy supposes that they are, in a way. But they've never actually met, so he sticks out a trembling hand rather than entering the room.

Huh. Why is his hand trembling? Maybe that's a side effect of being shot by the love of his life, he wonders. He's allowed to think of her like that again, now, isn't he? Now that his faith has been scattered?

No. Probably he shouldn't think of her in those terms, since the shooting.

He shakes his head, gathers his courage.

"You must be Jake. I'm Bellamy."

Jake shakes his hand. "Yes. Sorry – you took me by surprise. I should have introduced myself. This must be strange for you."

He's about to agree with that, when Abby appears in the doorway. And she doesn't just stay there and welcome him inside – not at all. She barges right past Jake, strides forward, and pulls Bellamy into an earnest hug.

Well, now. This is most expected. This is not the Griffin woman Bellamy normally hugs.

She hugs a little like Clarke, in some ways. There's something of Clarke's spirit and desperation, but none of her warmth, and none of that softness she usually keeps hidden and only seems to let peep through when she's hugging him.

No. No, he mustn't think about Clarke's hugs any more.

Abby pulls away, steps back and takes him in.

"You look physically well at least." She says appraisingly. "Come on in and tell us all about it. Where's Clarke? Is she not with you? Did you take a bullet for her or something?"

He gulps, stunned. She can't have known – she didn't mean to say that. It's not an unreasonable deduction, based on the closeness they shared last time Abby saw them.

It's Jake who catches on, eyes narrowed in Bellamy's direction.

"Come in and sit down." He says calmly. "It looks like you have a lot to tell us."

He does come in. He can do that – it's a simple instruction. He sits down, too, on the chair that Abby indicates. He folds his hands neatly in his lap, but that reminds him too much of his short stint as a Disciple of lies so he quickly folds his arms instead.

But telling them _all about it_? That's rather more of a challenge.

He takes a deep breath in. He lets it out again. He blinks, startled to find tears in his eyes. He could swear he used to cry less, before Clarke. Even getting his mother floated and his sister locked up broke him less.

Another deep breath.

"We're here for you, son." Jake says.

Bellamy chokes on a sob. _Son_. That's – that's an unfortunate choice of vocabulary, he thinks. He's no one's son – Jaha saw to that. And he saw to it, too, that he would never join Jake's family by settling down for a peaceful life with Clarke. He saw to that when he pushed them to the very edges of their sanity.

Now that he is crying, somehow, it is easier to let it all out.

"She shot me." He gasps – pants, really. "She killed me. It was her."

There's a beat of perfect stillness, marred only by his own ragged breathing.

And then he's surrounded by movement, all at once. Jake is patting him robustly on the back. Abby is pushing a box of tissues into his hands, squeezing his knee. That's a little odd, he finds himself thinking. He's not used to seeing Abby act so kind and _soft_. Maybe she was always like this, with Jake on the Ark.

"That sounds like a long story." Jake says mildly.

Bellamy nods. He cries a bit more. He accepts a tissue, wonders when he became the kind of man who would collapse into a blubbering mess before the parents of the woman who shot him.

When Jaha decided to ruin his life, probably.

He stays there for the better part of an hour. He tells them very little about what happened – he joined a cause, Clarke shot him for it. But he tells them more about the things that really seem to matter, here and now, removed from the situation. He tells them about Clarke's fragile mental state, her all-consuming obsession with Madi's safety, the evidence that she's not thinking so rationally any more.

And before he leaves, he tells them thank you. That's the closest he can get, right now, to admitting he's in serious need of help.

…...

He was right. His old apartment feels lonelier than ever – lonelier than it did even when he was a janitor, missing his mother and sister.

He wonders about eating something. Food is sensible, right? And it's supper time.

But food sounds like _effort_. Food sounds like going to the dining hall, too, and interacting with other people. It sounds like difficult questions to which he does not have the answers. And it sounds like twenty minutes, minimum, of trying not to cry.

He doesn't have that in him. It's simply not an option.

He wonders about going to see friends. Abby and Jake were very informative – they said that some of the hundred are in lock up, and he supposes it would be easy enough to find others, or folks he knew on the guard.

He sits on his bed, rests his chin in his hands, and stares in rapt concentration at the floor where his sister used to live.

…...

He wakes up the following morning with no memory of going to sleep. It's almost as disorientating as disconnecting, at first, as he finds himself fully clothed on his bed, in a room he feels he has not lived in for seven years.

He wonders what to do next. Food? Funeral for Echo? How does one even have a funeral for someone who was never real?

He decides to go see Wells and Jasper and Monty and Harper, in the end. He's missed Jasper, Monty and Harper, and he supposes it will be good to see them again. He doesn't feel apprehension at the idea of seeing them as he does when he thinks of the people he left in the simulation. His friendship with Jasper, and with Monty and Harper in particular, dates to a slightly less confusing time.

He's not sure how he feels about seeing Wells. They were never close, and he doubts they'll suddenly become close now.

It's easy to walk to the skybox. One foot in front of the other, breath after breath after breath. These are things he can do. They're easier than thinking, and easier by far than feeling.

And yet, against his wishes, the emotions creep in.

He's worried. He's so damn worried it feels like his skin is crawling with it. He's worried about his sister, and about all his friends in the simulation. But most of all he's worried about Clarke, and her deteriorating mental state, and whether she will ever recover from the experience Jaha has put her through.

He's annoyed with himself for that. She _shot_ him. He shouldn't be so fixated on her wellbeing, when she has shown precious little care for his, of late. He should be mourning his non-existent girlfriend, not hung up on Clarke.

Huh. It's almost funny. He always did worry more about Clarke than Echo, and apparently that hasn't changed now.

He supposes maybe he just needs to accept that he's frantic about Clarke, try to find a away for that to exist alongside his anger at her. He's made it his life's mission to keep her alive, more or less, so he's hardly going to be able to quit it easily now just because she happens to have shot him in the heart.

It hurts, though. It really, truly hurts, even though he hasn't so much as a scar to show for it.

He's relieved to arrive at the skybox. Conversation will distract him, surely? He asks for permission to see his friends, is granted it, and arrives at their cells. Wells and Jasper share one, Harper and Monty share the other.

They all greet him with one unanimous enthusiastic cry of welcome.

It brings tears to his eyes, but he tries not to dwell on that. Most things brings tears to his eyes these days, so it's hardly worth noticing. But it is worthy of notice, he thinks, that he still has at least four loyal friends.

It makes him feel rather humbled, when he looks back at how he treated Wells, on the ground.

He nods a little, tries to find some words. "Hey, Guys." Weak, but better than silence.

"How are you? How did it happen?" Monty asks calmly.

Bellamy swallows. "Clarke shot me." He had a chance to practise saying that yesterday, and the words come out sounding almost steady.

"Like a mercy killing?" Harper asks softly.

"Or an accident?" Wells suggests.

Bellamy shakes his head. "Not – not an accident. An argument, I guess."

There's a horrified silence. Of course there is. The truth of what happened between them is horrifying beyond belief.

He realises he had better explain as best he can. "There was a sketchbook. She was trying to keep Madi safe. But – but I thought I had to serve the Shepherd."

"She shot you over a sketchbook." Jasper repeats back, disbelieving.

"It was more complicated than that." Bellamy doesn't know why he feels the need to defend her, only that he does.

"She shot you over a _complicated_ sketchbook." Jasper amends.

Bellamy swallows. "Pretty much. Yeah."

Put like that, he thinks, it sounds even worse. It sounds even more brutal, even more uncaring. And it makes him feel even more pathetic for the fact he's still thinking of her, still instinctively concerned for her wellbeing.

He swallows again. His throat is sticky. He ought to say something, ought to -

"Bellamy?" It's Wells who mutters his name.

"Hmm?"

"You're OK. We all know that wasn't really Clarke. We all know that was my father manipulating her."

Bellamy nods. That's true, he supposes. But it doesn't make his heart any less sore.

"We need to decide what we're doing to get them out of there." Harper suggests. "If Clarke is shooting you over some sketchbook and there's – what was it – a _Shepherd_?"

"Bill Cadogan." Bellamy supplies. Monty blinks in recognition, but no one else reacts much. Or maybe they're all too overwhelmed by the news of how he died to register much on hearing the half-familiar name.

"The point is, we need to get them out of there." Monty says.

"Clarke especially." Wells says. "If he's driven her so far she's ready to shoot you..." He trails off, helpless.

"I don't think that will be a problem much longer." Bellamy mutters.

"What do you mean?" Harper prompts.

Bellamy gathers his courage. He grits his teeth, blinks a couple of times as he works up to saying what he knows is the truth. This is something he's never admitted out loud before – it's something he's scarcely even had the courage to admit within his own thoughts. And it's even harder to string together the words than he thought it would be.

"I think she'll kill herself soon." He chokes out, breathless from the sheer horror of saying it.

Wells gasps, shocked. Jasper frowns. Monty and Harper look sadly unsurprised.

"You really think so?" Wells asks.

Bellamy nods, frantic. Now that he's gone and said it, he can feel the panic really hitting home. "I do. She's really not well. She was already struggling, and then she lost her mum. And now she's not just lost me – she has to face up to pulling the trigger, too. I really think she might do it. And if not, I guess Jaha will force a situation where she sacrifices herself to save Madi or something."

Monty nods. Bellamy watches Harper reach out to take Monty's hand, wonders what it might be like to have someone to support him like that. He seems to remember he and Clarke almost had that, once, but it feels like it was a lifetime ago now. Jasper is still frowning, ever more deeply.

Wells looks simply devastated.

"You really think she'll... she'll do that before we can act? Before we can figure out a way out of here to help get her out?"

Bellamy nods heavily.

"What about the others. What about your sister?"

"I don't know. I guess – I guess I've been stuck on worrying about Clarke." That's the story of his life, isn't it? "I think O might be happier in there than out here. She'll lose everyone she loves when she disconnects. Does it make me a coward to say I don't know what I'd do if she wakes up distraught tomorrow?"

Harper smiles softly. "Not at all."

"I still want her back, though." Bellamy rushes to tell them. It's a confusing business, this. He wonders if snapping out of the simulation is maybe like ripping off a plaster – best to get it over and done with.

Like ripping off a plaster, only a thousand times worse.

"There's Miller, Jackson, Raven and Murphy, too." He points out, hopeless and over half way to overwhelmed.

Monty must sense that. He reaches out through the window of his cell, sort of pats Bellamy awkwardly on the shoulder.

"One thing at a time, Bellamy. Get some rest. We can figure out how to get them out of there when you're doing better."

When he's doing better? What a joke. He's beginning to suspect he will never feel better again.

He leaves at that point, goes home to stare a once more at the floor where his sister used to live. He simply cannot face human company any longer.

…...

The problem with staying in his room and avoiding other people is that he's lonely. He's lonelier, in fact, than he was on Etherea. Sure, this dull grey box of a room is a little more physically comfortable than that cold snowy cave, but that's about the only positive. At least he had Doucette, back there. At least he had a friend who loved him unconditionally for the simple fact of being a member of the human race.

He only grows lonelier, as the days pass and he keeps to his quarters. He gets sadder, too, as the shock of first disconnecting spreads into a more all-consuming kind of grief. He doesn't really know how to deal with it. When he's been sad before he's punched something or fucked someone. But since Etherea it's like that peacefulness of faith has given way to complete apathy. To emptiness, maybe. It turns out that transcendence was real in a manner of speaking, but it's a hollow victory.

It wasn't really real. Just real in unreality.

It's complicated, and he hates it.

He misses Echo. His relationship with her was uncomplicated, and he needed that – because Jaha designed her that way, he thinks sadly. She may have been neither real nor his greatest love, but she was important to him in her own particular way. She helped him through his grief on the Ring, and they even enjoyed each other's company some of the time. That's no small compliment, in a simulation where he enjoyed very little.

He tries to have a funeral for her, three days after his disconnection. He doesn't invite anyone else, because everyone else who loved her is in lock up or a simulation or was never real either. He walks to the viewing platform window, looks down at the Earth. She's not down there, and she never was, but just for a moment, he tries to imagine she might be.

"Thank you." He says, feeling awfully self-conscious. "And I'm sorry. I'm sorry you're not real and we'll never meet again. I'm sorry I couldn't protect you in the end. And I'm sorry – I'm sorry for Clarke."

It's the worst eulogy of all time, for the worst funeral of all time.

He gives up and goes back to his room.

…...

He feels even worse, in the days that follow the failed funeral for Echo. That event has brought into sharp relief the fact that Bellamy has no one left in his life who truly loves him.

Kane visits a couple of times. The Griffins, too. He respects them, and values them, and loves them in the kind of dutiful familial way one might love an older relative.

But there's not much true warmth to the relationships, he notes. He's not sure whether that's because there's a lack of love there, or just because he's too emotionally wrung-out to feel warmth towards anyone at all, right now. Or maybe it's because what he needs in this moment is not a well-meaning uncle figure, but a genuine friend. Someone his own age, or someone he's lived with more recently than six years and a lifetime ago.

Abby tries quite hard. She brings him meals from the dining hall sometimes. That's good, because food is useful for survival, he knows. And there's something that tentatively borders on motherly about the way she takes the plates away again, even as he sits, stiff and awkward, failing to make conversation with her.

So that's it. That's his life, for the first few days. Four steel walls and a lot of visits from adults he doesn't much like anyway.

…...

He decides something needs to change, five days in. He needs something to do. He has no job, only a gentle kind of instruction from Kane to spend some time taking care of himself.

What a stupid order. He's always taken care of others first and foremost, and he has no intention of changing that now.

He therefore goes to the skybox to see if he and his friends can form a plan to get the last of his people out of the simulation. He needs a project, something to keep him busy. And this will help look after people he cares about, too.

"We need a plan." He informs his friends, the moment he is within earshot of their cells.

"Slow down, man." Jasper chastises him warmly. "How are you doing?"

He ignores that question, because he's incapable of answering it both honestly and usefully. He therefore presses on. "We need to work out how to get the others out of there. Is there someone in engineering who could help us with the tech in the simulation room?"

Wells nods. "They're mostly loyal to my father. But Sinclair might help you out."

"Gina." Monty suggests. "Go see Gina. She'd help you."

Bellamy gapes, stunned. _Gina_. Gina is a person who exists, who was not an invention of the simulation. Gina is a person who works in engineering and would likely help him out.

Gina is a person he used to date.

He's reluctant to go see her. He just got out of a relationship with a woman he always placed second to his murderer. He's not really in any place to try that all over again.

And he'd sort of forgotten Gina ever existed, if he's being honest.

That's bad of him, he thinks. Gina was kind and warm and unthreatening.

Unlike Clarke. Clarke was mostly kind and sometimes warm and always absolutely _terrifying_. Challenging in the best of ways, as well as the worst. She made him a better person, and she made him feel like he made her a better person. She turned his life upside down and showed him there was more to him than simply being his sister's keeper.

Where was he? Oh yes. Gina. Gina was real, and she deserved better.

"I could go see Gina." He agrees.

…...

He tries going to see Gina the next day. She's in engineering when he arrives there. She smiles softly, says sorry for his losses. He attempts to strike up a conversation. She's been disconnected for well over a year, now, and they have no common ground.

Did they ever have common ground? Or did she just have a soft smile and no feature that reminded him of Clarke?

He forces himself to stick to his task.

"I just need to get them out of there." He chokes out, desperate. "It's turning really ugly. Do you know how I can get them out? Please can you help?"

"I'll see what I can do." She says, that soft smile as kind as ever.

He leaves, then. He has no reason to stay. He can't punch anything in engineering, and he certainly can't fuck Gina. So between that and her less-than-encouraging response to his desperate inquiries, that visit hasn't made him feel any better at all.

It has given him an idea, though. He goes to look for Bree instead.

…...

He can't fuck Bree, either. Nor Roma. Nor Fox.

He tries. He really does. He has a drink with them and a handful of the rest of the hundred, hoping to get in the mood and lead at least one of them back to his bed to take his mind of things.

But he doesn't like it. The alcohol makes his emotions sit too close to the surface. He never minded weeping occasionally in front of Clarke, but there's no way he can cry in front of these people.

"Where are you going?" Bree asks, a little peevish.

He freezes, startled. Sure enough, he seems to have stood up and left the table without ever quite noticing he was doing so. That's weird, he thinks. He's pretty certain he's never zoned out like that before.

"Home." He says shortly, and starts walking again.

The funny thing is, it doesn't feel like home. It feels like an empty box in the sky. Just like the Ring never felt like home without Clarke, all those simulated years he lived up here without her.

…...

It all starts to change the day Jaha comes to visit him. He has a purposeful look on his face, and Bellamy's not sure about that. He's pretty certain he doesn't want to get mixed up in anything this monster might feel purposeful about.

"What is it?" Bellamy snaps, keen to get back to his lonely staring.

"You're needed in the simulation room for a disconnection." Jaha informs him mildly.

Bellamy brightens a little. That means someone who loves him is waking up. That's how it works, right? There's a family member there to support each participant as they disconnect. And he could really use the company of someone he's genuinely close to, right now.

"Who is it? Is it my sister?" He asks, urgent. He hopes it's Octavia. Or he supposes it could be Raven – he's not convinced that Finn would be her first choice, these days.

"Clarke." Jaha says shortly.

All at once, Bellamy is shaking his head, quite literally digging his heels into his bedroom floor. "No. No, not Clarke. I shouldn't be there for Clarke. It should be her parents."

"It should be you."

"No. You don't understand. She – she _killed_ me. She should have someone she loves, not someone she murdered."

"And yet you're both, so you're coming with me." Jaha insists. "This is happening, Bellamy. You're the right person. Are you going to make me threaten you?"

Bellamy frowns. He's pretty sure that's a threat in itself – a threat to threaten. That's the kind of manipulation Jaha is an expert in, he has learnt. But all the same, it seems there's nothing much to be done about it.

And he really does want Clarke to be OK. However angry and horrified he is, he wishes her well, on a fundamental level.

He nods. He lifts one foot carefully from the floor. He starts walking towards the door.

…...

It's good to see her. That's the most painful thing of all, that his first reaction on seeing her blink her eyes open is relief and joy and a dizzying flush of warmth.

The he remembers himself. He remembers the gun. He remembers how it hurt more than anything he has known.

It's the bleakest conversation he and Clarke have ever had. He tells her the truth, about the simulation and about the ruined state of their friendship.

The worst part? He's pretty sure she's half wishing she never woke up, too.

…...

It's hard to sit still and silent in his room, knowing that Clarke is awake. He feels fidgety with it, his skin itchy, his chest sore. Like he's part way through running somewhere, but he's lost his way.

But it would be even harder to go see her, so he stays put.

He might have been there a couple of hours when Jaha knocks at the door once more. Or it might have been more time, or less time. It's tricky to keep track of silly things like minutes and hours, when he's spending so much effort on trying to keep track of his turbulent emotions.

"What do you want?" Bellamy greets him, unimpressed.

"I need you in the simulation room again. It's your sister this time."

Bellamy gasps. "She's done? She's disconnecting? She's – she _died_?"

Jaha frowns, visibly uncomfortable. "Not quite. The simulation is being... concluded."

Bellamy considers that for a moment. His brain isn't exactly firing on all cylinders right now, but it's working well enough to make sense of this, it turns out. As far as he can see, there is only one possible explanation for Jaha's shifty attitude and sudden abandoning of his long-term project.

Clarke must have talked him round.

No. _Talked him round_ isn't quite the right phrase, is it? Clarke must have done something to force his hand, to back him into a corner, to get her way. But on this occasion, at least, he can certainly agree she was acting for the right reasons. At last, it seems, this hellish nightmare is to be over for everyone he loves.

And he has his murderer to thank for it.

He mustn't dwell on that. He mustn't allow himself to get stuck on the conflict between his old affection for her and his current anger. He mustn't try to balance his respect for her doing the right thing, now, with his repulsion at her for shooting him.

He simply follows Jaha down the familiar hallway, enters the simulation room for the second time today.

Octavia wakes up quickly. Bellamy thinks she looks brighter and more aware as she blinks than Clarke did earlier. He supposes that's not saying much – Clarke is evidently not in a good way at all. But she's the only point of comparison he has, the only other person he has ever watched go through this strange journey. So if Octavia looks positively alert and functional by comparison, that's a good thing, he figures.

Well, it's a good thing for his sister. It hardly bodes well for Clarke.

No. He mustn't think about her, now. He must concentrate on taking care of his sister.

"You're OK, O." He soothes softly. "We'll get you out of there soon. I know you must have a lot of questions, and we'll answer those soon. You're safe."

Her eyes flicker over to him. That's promising. That's more awareness than Clarke was showing, earlier.

He keeps repeating those reassuring words. "You're safe, O. You'll be out of there soon."

Sure enough, it is only a couple of minutes before Jaha nods at Bellamy, clearly indicating that he's done.

"OK. I'm going to start unstrapping you from the chair now."

"Chair?" She asks, speaking at last. "Where am I?"

Bellamy frowns. He was hoping to avoid that question until Jaha was out of here. He fears this could get ugly.

"You're on the Ark." He admits. "You've been in a simulation. I'll explain everything just as soon as you're out of the chair."

"The Ark? Simulation?"

Well, then. It seems like he's explaining everything _now_. As if on cue, Jaha flees the room. He really does seem to be an expert in running away from the problems he has caused, Bellamy thinks.

"You've been in a simulation." Bellamy confirms, as he carries on loosening Octavia's restraints. "Nothing that happened on the ground was real. The simulation started a couple of months after you were put in the skybox. You're safe, and I'm safe. Mum isn't – Mum was already dead."

He's done undoing those straps, now, but his sister doesn't rise from her chair. She lies there, still, frozen with horror.

"Hope?" She asks weakly. "Lincoln? Indra? Diyoza?"

"Not – they weren't alive." He admits.

"They weren't real? Everyone I love is a lie?"

That hurts. That hurts because _he's_ not a lie. He's real and honest, and honestly a real _mess_ right now. He could use a spot of support, he thinks, not to sit here powerless and watch his sister struggle.

He forces himself to think back to what he said to Clarke earlier. "Your experience was real. Your love for them was real."

"But their love for me wasn't real."

With those words, she breaks. She lies there, trembling and sobbing, tears streaking down her face. Bellamy simply doesn't know what to do. He gets it, and he was kind of expecting a reaction something like this. But he doesn't have the emotional robustness himself, right now, to have the first clue how to handle this.

He pulls her into a hug. That seems like the right thing to do. Octavia collapses into his embrace willingly enough, sobbing into his shoulder.

It's funny, he thinks. His sister lost faith in him on Bardo just as much as Clarke did. But somehow, just because she didn't shoot him, he's fallen right back into taking care of her as he always used to.

Is it more complicated than that, perhaps? Is it a lifetime of _my sister, my responsibility_ breaking through? Is it the fact that he thought he knew Clarke better, thought he meant more to her, though she would never pull the trigger on him?

He doesn't know. All he knows is that Clarke has got his baby sister out of that horrific mess, and he owes her a thank you.

…...

He learns a thing or two, that evening, as he goes to thank Clarke for getting his sister disconnected, and finds himself listening to an apology he is not ready to handle.

He learns that he hates weeping in front of Clarke now, and that surprises him. He used to be more comfortable with her than with any other person he's ever known, so that's a change for the worse, since he crossed over to the other side.

He learns that she's sorry, and that he's not ready to forgive her. He learns that he still cares about her, now matter what she's done.

He learns that falling out of love is the hardest thing of all. Harder, even, than watching the love of his life point a pistol at his heart.

…...

Octavia is wretched.

That's all there is to it.

She's more miserable than any human being he has ever known. Or at least, she's more _visibly_ miserable. He suspects from the snatches he sees of Clarke that she might be faring even worse, but she tries to hide it, turns it inwards as she has always done.

Whatever. Clarke's not his problem any more, but Octavia is still his responsibility.

He tries to do his best for her. He holds her while she cries, invites her to talk about the people she's lost. It's Lincoln she focuses on, even after all these simulated years. He can understand that – he's still stuck on Clarke, after all. She talks a little about Hope, too, and sometimes Indra. Between those three there are barely enough hours left over in the day for her to cry about Diyoza or Gaia or Levitt or anyone else.

She barely lasts a week before she moves out.

"I have to go get my own place. I need some space." She tells him, tearful. She's always tearful, these days.

"You don't have to go. We can change things around here. I can give you more time to yourself." He pleads, desperate. He can't lose her again.

"I'm going. I have a room ready for me."

Sure enough, she's packed and ready to go within the hour. He tries once more to talk her out of it, but when has that ever worked before? She may have lost her spark, but she's lost none of her stubbornness.

So that leaves Bellamy alone once again, staring at the walls of this room he hates so much. Except it's even worse, now. With Clarke awake, Abby does not pop by very often at all. Even Kane comes over less frequently, apparently convinced that Bellamy wants to spend his time with Octavia.

He doesn't, as it happens. He doesn't _want_ to hang out with her at all. She's sad, in a loud and obtrusive sort of way that makes his own recovery even harder. And he hasn't entirely forgotten that she turned against him on Bardo. She hasn't apologised for that yet, he notes. Not like Clarke, who was in such a hurry to tell him how sorry she was.

But of course, what he wants has nothing to do with it. His duty to his sister is about the only thing he has left. So it is that he leaves his room at least once a day, driven by his dedication to checking in on Octavia.

…...

He nearly breaks, one day. He's just seen his sister – or rather, he's seen the back of his sister's head as she curled into a ball on her bed and sobbed, incoherent. Grief isn't pretty. He always knew that – he learnt it on the ground most of all. But this is ugly on a whole new level, and he simply doesn't know what to do about it.

And in these situations, his mind always flies to Clarke.

He doesn't allow himself to overthink it. He wants to visit her, so that's what he'll do. He sets out down the hallway to the quarters she shares with her parents. It'll be fine, he tries to tell himself. They used to be close, and she's sorry for shooting him. So it will be perfectly acceptable for him to show up at her door and gasp, desperately, that he needs a hug.

He needs a Clarke hug like he needs air to breathe, right now.

He knocks at the door of the Griffin apartment. Jake answers.

"Bellamy. Great to see you. It's been too long." Has it? He's not got a great sense of time, these days. Maybe the simulation scrambled that part of his brain, like it seems to have scrambled everything else in his life.

"Yeah." He says, neutral, robotic. "Is Clarke home?"

Jake's face softens. "She's at med bay with Abby. She's picked up her apprenticeship again, did she tell you?"

No. Of course she didn't. They don't tell each other things, any more. Bellamy can't say that, obviously, so he just nods tiredly.

"You could go find her there if you want to." Jake suggests. "I know she'd love to see you."

He swallows. That's a kind lie, he thinks. _Kind lie_. Clarke said that to him, once.

"No. No, it's OK. It's not important." Is his sanity important? He doesn't know that any more.

He wonders if Jake sees through that. Or maybe he's just a warm-hearted kind of a guy. Either way, next thing Bellamy knows, Jake is wrapping him in a hearty hug, patting him on the back, squeezing him tight.

"You're doing OK." Jake says bracingly, as he pulls away. "You are. I'm proud of you. It can't have been easy to come here."

Bellamy nods. That seems like the correct response.

"Really, you could go see her in medical. Or you could come back later. She'll be home this evening."

He nods again. He has no intention of doing either of those things, though. He's all out of emotional energy for the day.

…...

It's frightening, living alone in the home he used to share with his mother and sister. It's frightening, losing his mind. It's frightening, loving the woman who killed him.

He's not exactly well-equipped with strategies to deal with any of those things. He tries to practise calm breathing each evening, but his breaths sound too loud in the deserted room. He doesn't want to wake the ghosts that share his space. He knows he would feel better if he could distract himself with some kind of project or occupation, as Clarke is doing with her apprenticeship, and Miller is doing on the guard, but he doesn't think his brain is working well enough right now to concentrate on anything like that.

He adopts one particular coping mechanism above all others. He starts to get into the habit, as he lies awake in bed each night, of counting the people he loves and can rely on.

He always counts Miller first. Miller is the only person that Bellamy is consistently certain he both loves and can rely on. And he'd like for them to spend more time together, really, but Miller has Jackson and his own troubles to deal with, and Bellamy doesn't want to be a nuisance.

He adds Octavia to the list. He loves her, but he certainly can't rely on her. He adds Kane, who he can rely on, but hasn't always loved. He adds Jake and Abby, even though they are not his family by blood and he's barely seen them since Clarke disconnected. He adds Monty and Harper and Murphy and Raven, people who have loved him as a leader, but he's not convinced truly love him as a person. People he probably loves more than they love him, he thinks.

He always adds Clarke to the list. He puts her in the last spot, just when he ought to be sleeping. Lists are always like that, in his experience.

Except these days, he spends half the night regretting mentally writing her name.

…...

Bellamy sits next to Miller at breakfast – when he goes to breakfast, that is. He sits next to Miller, he stirs his porridge, and he tries not to stare at Clarke. He wants to protect her, still, even if he has to do it from a distance.

Who is he kidding? He's not protecting her at all. He's just watching the shadows under her eyes grow larger, watching her cling ever more desperately to Wells' side. He's watching her -

"Bellamy?" Miller's voice breaks him out of his thoughts.

"Yeah. Sorry."

"Don't apologise. It's hard."

Bellamy nods. It _is_ hard. He would agree with that.

"If you wanted to talk to her, that would be OK." Miller says softly, with a nod in Clarke's direction. "You guys were close. It's OK if you're confused or missing her."

"I'm just worried about her." It's not quite the truth. He's worried _and_ confused _and_ missing her.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. She was in a really bad place. And the more I see, the more I think she still is. Maybe even worse, in a different way. I wish there was something I could do to – to protect her from that."

"Maybe you're looking at it wrong. Maybe it's not about protecting her, but working through it together." Miller suggests.

 _So much for together_.

"I can't do that." Bellamy bites out.

"OK. That's OK too. I get that."

Bellamy nods. Miller nods. They go back to stirring their porridge. Bellamy stares at Clarke while he stirs, and for a moment she meets his eye. She doesn't smile, but that doesn't really hurt him.

Maybe that's because he's beyond pain, now. Or maybe it's because she doesn't smile at anyone, these days.

…...

It might be better that Octavia doesn't live with him any more. He doesn't really know. He doesn't know much, it feels like, since he reached this other side.

He thinks she might have been onto something when she talked about space. He hates the yawning loneliness of his empty quarters, but it's good not to have to listen to his half-estranged sister weeping, morning, noon and night.

One day, a miracle happens. Octavia knocks at his door. That's the first time she's ever done that – usually, he goes to her.

"I'm sorry." She chokes out, the moment he gets the door open.

"What?"

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything. I'm sorry I didn't believe you and I'm sorry for – for making you deal with my grief."

"Come in." He says. That seems like an easier place to start than trying to answer every point in that frantic apology.

She does come in. She sits down on the chair that always used to be hers, when they lived here together. Maybe it could still be hers, from time to time, if she starts to visit more often.

"You didn't choose to be this upset." He says. That strikes him as the most important thing to say.

"I know. But – but even though I can't control it, I feel awful."

 _Don't_. That's what he wants to say. He wants to tell her not to bother feeling awful, but of course that wouldn't help.

"I get that. I – it's kind of like that with me too."

"You seem to be coping really well." She says.

He snorts. "Just because I'm not crying all the time doesn't mean I'm coping." He admits. "Remember that time I shot three hundred grounders? I had dry eyes then, too."

To his surprise, she reaches across the table, squeezes his hand. This is new, he thinks. In their lives to date, it has been his responsibility to take care of her – she does not often do the same for him.

"You can try to talk to me if you need to. I'm sorry I haven't been much help."

He grunts a little. It's somewhere between acknowledgement and dismissal. It's not Octavia's help he needs, he's pretty sure.

"Have you and Clarke fixed things yet?" She asks, as if she has read his mind.

He shakes his head, eyes growing damp despite what he just said about sorrow without tears. And yet at the same time, there's the slightest glow warming the pit of his stomach at the way Octavia phrased that. She said _yet_ , he recalls. He likes that. _Yet_ is a good word, implies that their reconciliation is inevitable.

Maybe it is. Maybe it could be, if he can just pull himself together and make the effort. Maybe if Clarke really is so sorry, she'll meet him half way – or more likely three quarters, he thinks wryly, knowing her.

He wonders where to start.

…...

Kane gives him a clue. He offers him a job as a history teacher.

This, Bellamy thinks, is _news_. This is a good excuse to strike up conversation with Clarke. And maybe while he's at it, they could try talking about other healing things. She did say, for example, that she would be willing to attend a memorial for Echo.

This is starting to look almost like a plan.

…...

Clarke does agree to come to Echo's memorial. It's incongruous and probably inappropriate, but that kind of makes him want to jump for joy.

No. He mustn't. He has an uncomfortable feeling that this might be a bit like _using_ his non-existent ex to win back Clarke. And that's probably not a good reason to jump for joy. Not to mention that he's still weighed down by confusing sorrow at the loss of Echo, even though she was never real.

He really does hate Jaha, for the record.

He's pleased Clarke will be there. He wants her support. Monty and Harper will support each other, and Murphy and Raven will too, he thinks, based on the close hugs he's seen them share since they woke up. He doubts Clarke will support him in a _close hugging_ sort of a way, but to have her there at all has to be better than nothing.

It's infuriating to yearn for her like this when she's right there. He doesn't logically want her in his life, because she shot him. But his heart has always been stronger than his head.

Or at least, it was until she put a bullet in it.

…...

Clarke does come to the memorial. He sighs in relief when he sees her there, sitting next to Wells in the third row. He's surprised to note that there are three rows worth of people on the Ark who give a crap about Echo's non-existence, and he thinks that probably constitutes the first bit of good news he's had in quite some time.

Raven speaks first. It's a long and heartfelt speech. Monty says a few words, and adds some of Octavia's that she doesn't feel up to reading herself. Harper and Murphy follow, warm and funny.

Then it's Bellamy's turn.

"The others have said it all, I guess. They've said how strong and brave you were, but that you could be funny when you were with people you felt comfortable around." He says, speaking to Echo as if she's still there. "That's not what I want to say. I want to say more about – about what you were to me." He chokes out.

He pauses for a moment, collects himself. This is personal, and he doesn't usually go in for saying personal things in public, least of all when he's feeling emotionally fragile. But this is his only chance to do Echo justice, to tell her his truth. It's his only chance because she's not real, so he can never say it to her in person.

He takes a deep breath.

"Thank you. Thank you for helping me through the toughest time. You knew how hard it was for me to leave my sister and Clarke behind. To think – that I'd lost her." He heaves in a shaking breath. "You didn't care. You just didn't care, in the best possible way. You took me as I was, without expecting me to be whole. You didn't hate me for the way I could never give all of myself. You didn't try to compete with the love I had for them. You just got me through it. You taught me how to keep fighting and surviving and sometimes even laughing. Thank you for everything."

His speech concluded, he breathes quickly for a couple of seconds. He risks bringing his eyes up away from his sheet of prepared words, scans the crowd before him.

He finds Clarke. He finds her looking straight back at him, warmth in her gaze, nodding gently. Maybe she can still support him – not with close hugs, perhaps, but at least with the reassurance of her presence.

She looks haunted, he thinks. The shadows under her eyes are darker than ever. He wishes he could do something about that. Maybe if she's going to exert herself to support him, he ought to make the effort to protect her from closer quarters.

…...

He can't do it. He can't do _anything_ , he's pretty sure. He certainly can't teach. He's just had a hellish day, tearing up when he was trying to teach about the damn reformation and people losing their loved ones over faith.

He knows how that feels, now.

Needless to say, that threw him off for the rest of the day. And then he went to see his sister, and found her in a really bad way, punching dents into the walls of her room and ranting like a woman possessed. He managed to calm her down a little, but watched her weep for literally hours after that.

He's frightened. He doesn't know how to help her. He wonders yet again whether it would have been better never to wake up. It's not like he is actually helping the people he wanted to help, and he seems to remember that was the only reason he was relieved to be alive.

He doesn't know who he is outside of protecting others.

Then Clarke knocks on his door and turns his world upside down.

He splutters through a few words explaining his sister's absence, then manages to invite her in. He supposes that's a civilised sort of thing to do. He's struggling to focus on being a polite and reasonable host, if he's being honest. He sort of wants to throw caution to the wind and just hug her, but that doesn't seem like the most sensible option, here.

Then again, he never was the sensible one, out of the two of them.

He gathers his courage and takes a risk. "It would be good to see you more often. I know that must sound weird when we're still – yeah. But we're never going to fix this if we never see each other."

"You want us to fix this?" She asks, audibly incredulous. "Even though I – I -"

"I want to fix this." He interrupts her before she can apologise again. "I know why you shot me, now."

"Go on then. Tell me."

"It was Jaha. I blame him more than you, I think. Sure, you were the one who pulled the trigger. But he kept that simulation going, torturing you, even though he could see you were in a really bad place. He must have known that you – that your mental health was suffering."

She nods. She seems to do that a lot, these days. It's a new and strangely compliant mannerism that doesn't suit her, he thinks. The Clarke he knows and loves has more fire about her.

 _Knew and loved_. Sorry. He must get that right. Or maybe – maybe it's not so wrong.

Screw it. He wants a hug. That's what he decides. It's very _Bellamy_ of him, he thinks. The old Clarke would berate him for being so impulsive.

He's holding onto the tiniest shred of hope that he might be able to spur this Clarke into berating him, too.

He hugs her. He wraps his arms tight around her, pulls her close. He buries his face in her hair, as much to conceal his tears as because he's missed the texture of her hair tickling his nose. He simply stands there and treasures her for a moment, relishes the feel of her warm and present and alive in his arms.

Only she's not hugging him back.

"Bellamy?" She sounds nervous, and he hates it.

"Just hug me, Clarke. Just hug me back." He pleads. He needs her to hug him back more than he's ever needed anything in his life, he thinks. Or perhaps he needs Clarke back in his life even more than that.

She does hug him back. She hugs him back _hard_ , with almost the same energy she used to bring to their hugs, and it has warmth spreading right through him. It feels like a miracle, he thinks. Almost as miraculous as waking up here in that odd grey room with the harsh yellow light.

"I miss you." He whispers through the tears. "I miss you so damn much and I hate it. You shot me."

"I killed you." She acknowledges. "But we're here now, OK? We get another chance. Elysian fields and all that."

He snorts even as he keeps hugging her. She always did bring out a smile in him at the unlikeliest of moments. "Thanks, Clarke. Hugs and history references. That's what a guy needs at a time like this."

"I've no idea what you need, Bellamy. I wish I did. Right now it still feels like I know nothing at all, like my brain is underwater. But if you tell me what you need, I'll do my best to give it to you."

"I just need you." He admits, a little bit broken, yet slightly more mended than he was before Clarke showed up at his door.

She stays there for a long time. Hugging him, breathing with him. Showing him that, despite everything, she's still on his side.

…...

She's back the next day. She's there, standing at his door, and it feels like even more of a miracle than that magical hug.

"Is this OK?" She asks, shifting nervously. "When you said yesterday about seeing me more often, did you mean -?"

"I meant it." He assures her, before she can doubt herself – or worse still, doubt him.

He greets her with a warm hug. It's not such a long or bittersweet one as they shared last night. It's just a hug, because he thinks that frequent hugs could do both of them a lot of good, right now. He pulls away again soon, steps back and looks her up and down.

There's a moment's pause. What the hell happens next? Does he try to get his concerns about his sister off his chest, or does he ask about the state of Clarke's head? Or does he try to explain in actual words the conflict between missing her and mistrusting her, loving her and hating her?

No. _None of the above_. That's the answer. It's time she learnt more about the Elysian fields.

"Do you want to come hang out at the library?" He asks.

She looks surprised. More than that – she looks _taken aback_ , as if she came here expecting another storm of grief and guilt, not some cheery library date.

Date? Hang out. Whatever. It's not a big deal.

"You want to go to the library?" She asks, audibly unsure.

"Yeah. If you do. I thought – we could find you a book about the Elysian fields." He swallows, tries to find the words to explain the real reason he's suggesting it. "And – it could be fun, right? We could hang out doing something _happy_."

"I'm honestly not that bothered about the Elysian fields." She tells him, smiling a tentative smile. "But – but happiness does sound good."

She walks in front of him on the way down the corridor. He's pleased about that – it looks a little more like leadership, and a lot less like that scared, compliant nodding.

…...

They go to the library a lot after that. Wells seems to be orchestrating it sometimes, opting out of group activities for no good reason, or conspiring to suggest that Clarke ought to spend her evening doing something other than playing chess with him.

Bellamy doesn't even care if it's all a plot by Wells. He gets to hug Clarke and read myths and sometimes that chases the darkness away. Sometimes they share a precious few hours, bathed in golden light.

He looks forward to it each day as he grapples with his new responsibilities at the school. He does his planning and grading as quickly as he can, saves some of it to do early the following morning if he has to, then makes it to supper just before they finish serving, catches Clarke and her friends before they leave the canteen.

One day, Clarke calls him out on it.

"Why are you always so late to dinner?" She asks.

He frowns, looks away. He still finds it difficult to meet her eye when they're talking about things that really matter.

"Teaching is a lot of work, it turns out. And I guess I like to be done for the day before I eat so I can spend the rest of the evening with you."

"You don't have to stress yourself out to spend time with me." She chastises him. "Maybe some time we should try hanging out at your place while you do your planning or whatever. I can read one of those library books while I wait for you to finish your work."

He likes that they can have vaguely normal conversations like this again, now. He likes that she wants to spend time with him, likes that he is ready to admit he wants to spend time with her.

Most of all he likes the image of contented domesticity her words conjure up. He likes the sound of an evening spent planning and reading with Clarke.

In fact, he thinks, it sounds a little like heaven.

…...

Octavia and Jasper get together.

Bellamy doesn't handle it well. He rants and raves about how unhealthy it is, how they're both still healing, how dangerous it could be for them to suffer together. He largely ignores Octavia when she says it's quite the opposite – that Jasper has experience of being in place very much like the one she now finds herself in, that they're helping each other to heal, and that they are each more than their mental health challenges and deserve happiness.

Bellamy is scared. That's the real problem. He's scared of standing helplessly by and watching his little sister suffer even more, scared of losing her all over again.

And he's scared of what Octavia and Jasper getting together might mean for him and Clarke. He's scared that it means even people with immeasurable trauma can get together and pursue a romantic relationship and acknowledge their love for each other.

He's not ready for that, yet.

But it turns out he is ready for Clarke to hug him and talk some sense into him. And that maybe he owes Octavia an apology.

…...

He goes to see Octavia in her room. He's not been here for a while – she comes to him quite often, these days. Huh. Maybe that's healing at work.

"I'm sorry." He says, the moment she opens the door. It occurs to him that a lot of conversations start like that, between the two of them. Did siblings used to have more functional relationships, on the ground before the bombs?

She rolls her eyes at him affectionately, looking almost like the baby sister he used to love. "Come on in. I'm guessing Clarke talked you round?"

He nods as he passes her and takes a seat. "Yeah. I guess so. She reminded me that love and healing are complicated."

The expression on Octavia's face is a little too knowing. Bellamy sits, awkward and stiff, and wonders whether he has said too much.

At last, Octavia speaks, voice low and urgent and calmer than he has heard her in weeks, or simulated months or years.

"Promise me you'll make yourself happy, big brother. Whether that's with Clarke or with someone else or alone. But just – promise me you'll try. That you'll live for _you_. I don't want your life to revolve around me. I'm honestly doing much better now. And anyway – I'm not your problem. I'm my own person. Go – go be your own person."

"I'm trying." He says, because that's the honest truth. He is trying, has been trying in earnest since that day he begged Clarke to hug him.

"That's good."

"Yeah." He swallows thickly. "It is good. Really, it is. I'm not happy yet. But I think – I think I could be."

For the first time since he woke up, he believes that is true.

…...

After all these simulated years, getting together with Clarke catches him by surprise.

It's an odd evening. One moment they're arguing about her taking a seat on the council, the next they are deciding to take it together. One moment she is essentially accusing him of trying to patronise her, the next she is singing his praises.

It's when she starts talking like she did the day of the death wave that he knows he has to act. He lived six years haunted by the memory of her telling him he had a big heart – or at least, he dreamed he did. So when she uses that phrase again, he goes all in.

He kisses her. He just can't hold it in any more. He thinks of what his sister said, about pursuing happiness. He thinks of Clarke showing up to help him say goodbye to the computer code girlfriend he never loved as much as he loves her.

He thinks about how she can still be the love of his life, even though she's responsible for his death.

He tries to pour all that into the kiss. He's not sure whether he succeeds – it's too messy and urgent to be truly emotional. He tries to pour it into his every touch, into the way he takes care of her as they bring each other pleasure.

He's still in her bed when the morning comes, so he figures that has to count as a success.

…...

He spends the following day worrying.

That's stupid, of course. He has lessons to teach. He ought to be focusing on the French Revolution, not fretting about having sex with a woman he's loved for as long as he's known her.

The problem is, he doesn't know how to go about ensuring it won't be a one-off. He doesn't know how to show her it really made him feel good, that he really wants to make her feel good in turn. And he figures it ought to be him who makes the next move, because he knows Clarke won't. He knows she still feels too guilty about that bullet to demand anything from him.

He decides to keep it simple, in the end. He sits with her at supper, almost on time for once.

"Do you want to hang out after we're done eating?" He asks.

"Sure." She smiles at him. She actually full-on _smiles_. "What do you want to do?"

He wants to fuck her, but he can't say that in the middle of the canteen, with Wells sitting right there.

No, actually, that's not quite true. He wants to make love to her, wants to show her that everything about this new phase in their twisted and beautiful relationship is working for him.

"I still have some grading to do. And we should talk about our campaign strategy, right? If we're serious about this council seat job share we need a better plan than you talking me up." He tries for a teasing tone, and more or less succeeds.

"I don't know. You are pretty great." She says, as if that's just a fact.

He glows. "You, too. So that's it, then? Our campaign strategy is complimenting each other."

"Your campaign strategy sounds crap." Raven informs them robustly. "You need to tell them what you stand for. You need to remind them that you both tried to take care of everyone in that simulation. How you wanted the best for people – the best you could do in the situation."

Bellamy nods, tries for a grateful smile. Those were some substantial compliments from Raven, and he knows he shouldn't be scornful of them.

But he'd rather hear Clarke telling him he's _pretty great_ , any day.

…...

They arrive at his apartment not long later. They enter, take seats next to each other on his bed. Bellamy supposes he ought to go pick up his grading from the other side of the room, but he'd really much rather sit here.

"We should plan this campaign." Clarke suggests, with an echo of the confident young woman he first fell in love with.

"Yeah. We should. What's that you were saying about how great I am?"

"Are you fishing for compliments?" She asks, brow quirked.

He gathers his courage. "Not quite." He says, tone level. "More looking for an excuse to kiss you again."

All at once, her face lights up. He's genuinely not seen her this happy since that Unity Day party, he thinks. So that's never, in fact, seeing as that was a simulation. He's literally never seen her look this happy in real life. That really hits him in the stomach, that thought.

"You don't need an excuse. You can do that whenever." She tells him, tone level.

"Really?"

"Well, maybe not while I'm trying to sleep or whatever. And I guess – maybe we'd both be happier if we keep this private for now. But – but I liked last night. That new step. It worked for me. I thought it worked for you."

"Yeah. It worked for _us_." He agrees easily.

"So maybe you can stop inviting me over to _discuss campaign_ _strategy_ and just tell me you want to get laid?" She suggests, tone teasing.

He loves this Clarke. He loves her in all her forms, of course. He even loves the sides of her that are difficult to love – the sacrifices, the hard choices, the tough exterior. But this warm and teasing Clarke is easy to love, and he's missed her.

She initiates the kiss this time, pressing up against him, stretching so she can press her lips to his. She takes the next step, too, starting to tug at his clothes, and the next, pushing him back onto the bed.

He wonders about saying something. He wonders about suggesting they take it slower, treasure the moment, make love in the truest of senses.

But that's not what they've agreed to, he reminds himself. They've agreed to sex that _works_ , and _helps_. They've agreed to _getting laid_ , and to healing together as best as they can. He seems to remember love was mentioned, last night. He seems to remember a stray implication that what they did was a gesture of love. But if Clarke's not ready to discuss that yet, then he supposes he shouldn't bring it up.

He surrenders. It's no hardship to do so. He lets Clarke strip him naked, tugs off her clothes in return. He allows her to arrange him on his back on the bed, grateful at least to see his decisive Clarke breaking through once more. He makes no objection as she climbs on top of him and starts to rock her hips – rather, he encourages her, because this is beyond beautiful, even if it's not quite exactly what he needs from her.

He never gets exactly what he needs from Clarke. He needs love and acceptance, and he gets friendship and forgiveness. He needs to know he's valued and important, and all he gets is his name on a list. He knows that's about as good as love gets, from Clarke. He understands that Jaha has broken her, that this is as much of herself as she can give.

And anyway, feeling her slide along the length of his cock is a hell of a lot closer to what he needs than a bullet to the chest.

It's with that thought that he comes, her name on his lips.

…...

They have sex a lot, in the months that follow.

Sometimes he wonders what he's doing. She killed him – he was there. Only it turns out neither of them was there, actually.

And so here they both are, sleeping together, healing together, saving each other. They get better at it, too – slower and softer, less _help_ and more _healing_.

He has the occasional uncharitable thought that he's only with her because that's all he deserves, to be loved by his murderer. That's what he gets for being so crap at saving people. For being so crap at everything, from shooting straight to thinking straight.

But then he remembers times she made him smile, made him feel like he deserves everything good in the world. He remembers that this is the most love she is capable of giving, scarred as she is, and that he is honoured to have it. And most of all he remembers the six simulated years on the Ring where he'd have given anything to be able to choose her, take his happiness and run, live a peaceful life with her.

And really, what's one gunshot stacked against an entire reality of mutual devotion?

…...

Miller notices first. Of course he does. He's the only person Bellamy both loves and can rely on, remember?

No. Maybe that's not true, any more. Maybe Clarke's steady presence in his arms every night means she truly deserves her place on the list, these days.

"You've forgiven Clarke." Miller observes over porridge one day.

Bellamy allows himself a small smile. He seems to remember they had a rather different conversation in rather similar circumstances, not so long ago.

"Yeah. I actually told her that a couple of nights ago. It was – yeah. Really good."

"You mean the sex was great." Miller says knowingly.

Bellamy splutters on some porridge. "How did you -?"

"It's written all over your face. Hers too."

"It's not just the sex." Bellamy tries to explain, defensive. "It's like – like I really have her back, you know? The real Clarke I knew before Bardo. Before Praimfaya, even. And that's bringing out the best in me. And we're helping each other heal, doing much better than we were on our own."

"You mean you're in love." Miller points out, calm and matter-of-fact.

"I've been in love with Clarke forever. That's not new."

No. What's new is acting on it. What's new is wondering whether she might be ready to admit she feels the same way, one of these days.

What's new is thinking he ought to tell her, sooner or later.

…...

Octavia is healing, quietly. Bellamy feels guilty that he hasn't played more of a role in that – he's sort of listened to her cry a few times, occasionally wept himself from sheer helplessness, and overall contributed very little.

That's the story of his life, isn't it? Helplessness and contributing less than he would like.

No. That's untrue, and negative. Clarke wouldn't want him to think like that. She'd tell him that he's more than just her bodyguard or Octavia's protector. She'd tell him that he's doing his best, that he's saved her so many times, that he saves her every day they wake up side-by-side.

It turns out that sleeping with his murderer has been very good for his mental wellbeing. It's a funny thing, but it's true, and he's glad of it.

…...

The day of Madi's memorial is grim. Bellamy sits at Clarke's side throughout, feels her gradually crush the life out of his hand. Never mind. He can cope with a little pain, and he's faced worse injuries at her hand.

She seems to catch herself, in the pause between Kane's speech and Abby's. She goes to withdraw her hand, a panicked look in her eyes.

"I'm sorry." She hisses. "I'm so sorry."

He catches her fingers, cradles her hand between his palms. "You're OK. You're fine. No real damage done. Come on, hold tight to me."

She does. She latches back onto his hand, grips it firmly as Abby starts to speak. There are tears streaming down Clarke's face – more tears than anyone should cry in a lifetime, he thinks. He'd do anything to make it better, but all he can do is hold her hand and rub a tender thumb over her knuckles.

Strangely, though, it doesn't make him feel so helpless. It makes him feel like he's doing his best to help in a hopeless situation.

She cries even more, later that night. He understands that, of course, so he simply holds her tight and lets her weep in his arms. He figures that this really must be a relationship, now. If they're spooning without having sex, offering emotional support to each other to this degree, they really must be together in every sense of the word.

He's happy about that. He's so damn happy at the idea – and he's even happier to be happy, in a strange kind of way. After so many months where he felt like he was stuck in sadness, it's a relief to know he can still feel joy. He feels almost proud of himself for breaking through and finding such gladness on the other side.

But Clarke's still weeping, of course, so that tempers his joy.

"I'm sorry." She tells him, when she's calmed down a little. "You don't deserve this. I shouldn't bother you with all this."

"I don't mind. Really. I'm happy you feel like you can share it with me."

"I'm a monster." She frets. "I shouldn't cry on you like this. I already – I _killed_ you. What kind of person kills their best friend? What kind of person kills their best friend and then cries on -"

"Will you stop with the _best friend_ line?" He snaps, suddenly annoyed.

"What? Why?"

"Aren't we more than that?" He asks her, voice raw. "Aren't we more than _best friends_ , at this point? When we've hurt and forgiven each other this many times over and we're still in bed together now?"

She nods in his arms, her hair rubbing against his chest. He relaxes a little, the anger starting to ebb out of him.

"But we're still best friends." She pipes up, sounding awfully small. "Whatever... else. You're my best friend. The best friend I could have."

"Yeah." He agrees. "We're lots of things."

He says that because it strikes him as safer than telling Clarke she's everything to him.

…...

It's a surprisingly functional relationship, considering their dysfunctional past.

They do win the council seat. They win it comfortably, in fact, and set about a relatively comfortable way of sharing it. They discuss everything at great length, relishing arguments as they used to do, when they first found themselves living on simulated Earth.

And then, in what becomes a kind of ritual, they follow every agreement they reach with sex.

"You're just arguing about this for the sake of it now." Bellamy accuses her playfully, this evening. "You _do_ think we should cut funding to the guard and spend it on the school and med bay. I know it. You just don't want to admit it because you want oral tonight."

"A girl can want oral and want a well thought-out budget." Clarke says lightly. She has a lot more lightness to her in general, these days. He thinks it's something to do with saying goodbye to Madi, finding some closure.

"This is a well thought-out budget. You value education and medicine. I know you too well to fool me on this." He teases.

"But what about the future?" She asks. "We don't know whether this spending decision will make sense in five years time. What if there are more protests, and we need the guard to keep everyone calm?"

He sighs, a little exasperated. The teasing was fun, but this is annoying him now. He's not annoyed with her argument so much as with the fact she can talk fluently about the future of the guard, but won't talk at all about the future of their relationship. It bothers him, the way she's doing so much better in every way but still clams up whenever he tries to define what's going on between them, or what might still be going on between them next week or next month or next year.

But he gets it. He really does. He knows healing is a slow process. And he knows that even though they've been together for months, now, she still believes it's too good to be true. He knows that, because he feels that way himself.

He gathers his thoughts. "Admit I'm right. You know I'll go down on you anyway." He suggests.

"You're right. Sorry. I – I took it too far. I can see you were getting annoyed there." She sounds anxious, and he hates it. He hates how she seems genuinely scared of upsetting him.

"Hey, it's OK. I always did like arguing with you." He kisses her teasingly on the nose. "I'm not that easy to scare off, Clarke. You're stuck with me."

It's the closest he's ever come to saying anything about the future, and it frightens him. He waits with baited breath for her response.

"You too." She answers, eyes averted. He sighs a little, relieved. He figures that's about as close to a useful conversation about the depth of their feelings they're going to manage, until they're each in a slightly better place.

He moves things along. He knows her well, by now. He knows that it's often best to lighten the atmosphere with teasing or a joke when Clarke gets too bogged down by grief and guilt.

"You want that oral now?" He asks, leaning in for a quick kiss on the lips.

"You're serious?"

"I'm always serious about oral." He says lightly. He's always serious about _Clarke_ , more generally, but that's exactly the kind of emotional territory he's trying to pull back from, right now.

"Sure." She agrees eagerly, already shucking her shirt.

He can't help but smile at that. Spontaneous smiling happens to him a lot more often, these days. And it happens most of all when Clarke is being demanding or decisive or otherwise striding through life with her head held high. She's found a good balance, in recent weeks, between being a leader and being a medical apprentice and being a less careworn young woman.

He always enjoys going down on Clarke, and tonight is no exception. She's vocal in her appreciation, clear in the physical clues she gives as she wriggles and writhes before him.

Tonight is even better than that, though. Tonight she seems a little braver, as she tangles her hand in his hair and holds him in place. Tonight she says his name rather more often than usual, almost chanting it like a prayer.

Tonight, after she comes, she holds him close and tells him she's happy they're together.

…...

Clarke can still surprise Bellamy, even after all these years. He learns that rather abruptly as he eats supper with her one evening.

"We should go on more dates." She suggests, eyes fixed firmly on her plate.

He splutters on a mouthful of stew. "What?"

"Dates. We should spend quality time together. Since we won the election I feel like we mostly hang out doing council business or else you're trying to do your grading." She swallows, looks away. "I'm sure we could find one date night most weeks. It would be good for our relationship."

He's stunned. He's stunned but in a good way, warmth blossoming through his chest. It's the complete opposite of the way he felt that day she shot him, he reflects. They've come a long way – despair to hope, sorrow to joy. That explanation of hers sounded rather like an implication that they have a future together, he thinks, and he likes that. He honestly believes in a future with Clarke, now. He knows she won't hurt him ever again, knows she will do everything in her power to keep him safe and well.

"I'd like that." He says, trying to sound calm. "Sounds great. Tomorrow? You finish early in med bay tomorrow, right? We could watch a movie."

"Sounds perfect."

Yeah. It does, actually. _Perfect_ is exactly the word he would have used.

…...

He still lives alone. But it doesn't feel so much like a snowy cave now, because Clarke is here so often, filling it with warmth and light.

He's going to ask her to move in, one day. He doesn't know whether that will be today or the day after, next week or next year or next decade. But he knows that they'll get there eventually.

If there's one thing he's learnt, since she shot him in the chest, it's that he and Clarke will always work things out in time.

…...

Bellamy hears the knock on the door and frowns. It doesn't sound like Clarke's knock – yes, he knows her knock. What of it? And it can't be Octavia, because she's with Jasper tonight. Miller came round yesterday, and it seems unlikely he'd show his face two days running.

It turns out to be Jake.

"Come on in." Bellamy welcomes him, surprised but not shocked. Jake hasn't been over much recently, but that's fine. Bellamy sees him pretty often when he goes over to their place to see Clarke, after all.

Jake enters. He takes a chair. He gestures to Bellamy to do the same.

Bellamy frowns. Why is he being invited to sit down in his own home? It's all very odd.

"You'll want to be sitting down for this." Jake warns him.

All at once, Bellamy's heart starts to race. Has something happened to Clarke? Has she had some freak accident, died for real before he could ever tell her exactly how he feels? Has he been kidding himself with his judgement that she's doing better, and has she actually been secretly spiralling and now hurt herself?

No. He doesn't believe that for a minute. She is doing better, and he knows it. She'd have told him if not – that's how things are between them, these days.

He sits down heavily.

"Clarke?" He asks, frantic.

"She's OK. She's well." Jake assures him. "But she's got some big news, and she hasn't told you it. She's scared, as far as I can tell."

He frowns. Clarke isn't scared of much, in his experience. She's only scared of losing people. What big news could she have that would make her scared of losing people? What could be -

Oh.

"She's pregnant." Jake announces, just as Bellamy reaches that same conclusion for himself.

"She could have told me." He protests immediately, defensive. She's silly sometimes. He loves her, but it's true. _Obviously_ he wasn't going to run off at the news that she's pregnant. If he's still with her after a gunshot to the chest, she's clearly not going to lose him now. He can see she might still be scared about losing the baby, but surely that fear would have been easier to bear if they shared it between them?

"I knew you'd say that. But she couldn't, and you know it. Not because you wouldn't support her. I just mean – she literally couldn't tell you. She's not up to that yet. She's still processing the shock herself – she wasn't expecting her implant to fail. And you know how anxious she still is about you."

He nods. He can kind of see that. She's doing much better, but she's not magically fixed. Mental health isn't like that, and he should know. Didn't he just freak out over his girlfriend not being ready to tell him she was pregnant, for example? Didn't he get all hurt and emotional and take it personally that she wasn't able to tell him her news?

They're both doing better overall, and he should take pride in that, rather than dwelling on the things they're still struggling with.

"So I thought I'd tell you." Jake says, smiling broadly. "I figure telling people things they need to know is my calling in life, right?"

Bellamy laughs stiffly. It would be a good joke, were he less overwhelmed right now. Clarke is _pregnant_. They're going to have a baby.

They're going to start a family.

That's the moment he begins to cry happy tears at last. Because this is everything he ever wanted, back when he loved Clarke in a more straightforward sort of a way. Not the child specifically – he understands that not everyone can get pregnant, or chooses to, and that's fine. But the sense of _family_ , of belonging, of having a fixed future together.

Of having something beautiful to look forward to.

…...

He doesn't know how to tell her he knows. He decides in the end that it's easiest just to do it, pay her a visit and address it outright.

"I know your news." He informs her, the moment she opens the door.

She doesn't even question what he's talking about. "How did you find out?" She asks instead.

"Your dad told me. He said he figures that telling people things they need to know seems to be his calling in life."

Clarke snorts. He grins a little – that's pretty much the reaction he had to that line, too.

"So it's true?" He presses. "It's real? We're having a baby?"

"I'm pregnant." She confirms.

Well, then. There's only one possible answer to that. He closes the distance between them, hugs her robustly, starts muttering excited nonsense into her hair. They're having a baby. He's so excited, and so in love with her, and they're having a baby.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I didn't mean to hide it. It's just – it was hard." She tells him.

"I get that. It's OK. I love you." He whispers fervently, still hugging her tight.

Then he realises what he just said. That wasn't exactly the overexcited nonsense he meant to whisper. That was – that was really something quite significant.

He freezes, alarmed. She's gone still in his arms too. He tries for a laugh, but it comes out sounding forced.

"So emotions are running high." He comments, trying for a light tone and not entirely succeeding.

"I love you too." She tells him, and he thinks she sounds rather exasperated.

All the same, he relaxes. She loves him, he loves her. They're having a baby. It's good news all round, he's pretty sure. But it occurs to him that there's plenty of other things they haven't thought about yet, plenty of logistics to worry about when it comes to having a baby. There are things he feels pretty confident about, like asking her to move in with him.

There are other things that scare him witless, like talking about names.

"We've got a lot to do. I was thinking we could move in together, if you're up for that. It might make things easier. Also I love you and _want_ to live with you – there's that too."

"Let's do it." She agrees quickly. One down, a much more painful one to go.

"OK. Great. This might be harder." He warns.

"What might be?" She asks, looking up into his face.

He sucks in a nervous breath. "Names. I know we have a while to think about that, but I wanted to say right from the start – if it's a girl and you want to call her Madi, that's OK. You'd have my full support."

She gasps, and he watches her eyes flood with tears. He wonders if he ought to remind her to keep breathing, as he did when she first disconnected all those months ago. But before he has had chance to shape the words she's taking long, slow breaths and leaning further into his arms.

"We mustn't." She says, as he suspected she would. "That was _her_ name. Even if she wasn't real in body she was real in spirit – real to me – and I don't want to try and replace her."

"I know. I get that. But I wanted to say right now that – whatever you choose, I'll still love you."

Of course he will. That's what he does best.

…...

They come back to the question of names several times in the months that follow. It's a difficult one, because they don't want to name it after anyone loved and lost, so even Hope is out of the question.

It's yet another thing to hate Jaha for, Bellamy thinks. Torturing him into becoming a disciple of lies. Torturing the love of his life into killing him. And ruling out a great number of baby names.

He doesn't want to call it Augustus any more, either. That's a name he dreamed of, very occasionally, in the approach to Praimfaya. He would let himself imagine a future where he and Clarke took on the more pleasant burden of repopulating the Earth and their firstborn was a little freckle-cheeked lad who went by the affectionate abbreviation _Gus_.

But he doesn't want that, any more. That belongs to an earlier, simpler time, and doesn't do justice to the hard work he and Clarke have put into facing their demons together since they disconnected. And it has too much to do with his sister and his mother, anyway.

He wants this name to be all about him and Clarke.

…...

It's going to be a girl.

That makes it even worse, Bellamy's pretty sure. That makes her more like a replacement for Madi, harder for Clarke to stomach, perhaps.

But Clarke only cries about it a little. She only holds him tight for one night, only whimpers Madi's name in her sleep a couple of times.

Then life goes on, not untouched, but more or less undisturbed.

…...

Sex is different, now. Bellamy's not sure whether that's because of the love confessions or the pregnancy bump, but either way, it's great. They take things slower, more gently. Right now, for example, he's sitting on a chair while Clarke sits on his lap, facing away from him, riding his cock at a leisurely pace.

He takes a moment to play with her swollen breasts, swoops his hand lower over her swollen belly. She's absolutely glowing, and he loves it. As this is the only pregnancy they will ever get to share, he's going to treasure every moment of it. And there's something incredibly hot on a primeval level about seeing Clarke carrying his child.

It's even more stunning, when he considers the rocky road that brought them here.

He helps Clarke move faster, uses his hands at her hips to urge her on. He likes to take it slow and cherish her, sure, but he also really wants to come. It's a frustrating paradox, but at least he has a lifetime ahead to make love to her. There are a thousand more chances, if they decide this one was a little rushed towards the end.

Clarke seems to agree with him on that, moving quicker, grabbing at his hands to place them squarely back over her breasts. He was worried about playing with her breasts when he first found out about the pregnancy, worried that they would be sore and he would hurt her. But she seems to have decided that the increased sensitivity is a good thing, seems desperate for him to shower them in attention.

She's panting harshly, now, teetering on the edge of her control. He's right there, too, the crest of the hill just one well-placed thrust away.

"Bellamy -"

"I know, Clarke. I know. I've got you. I love you."

She lets go, then. She lets go, sighing his name, and that has him spilling inside of her in turn.

She doesn't move right away. It's one of the things he likes about this position – she tends to stay put for a while, until they're both ready to return to the real world. It's a coming down to Earth that's rather more pleasant than simulations or disconnections, he thinks, as he feels Clarke relax in his arms.

"How about Aurelia?" She asks, soft.

"Aurelia?"

"For the baby." She clarifies, as if there could be any mistake. "I found it one of those library books you made me borrow." She says, teasing.

"It's pretty." He agrees. It's sweet, and Clarke likes it, and it has echoes of Roman history. He could get behind that.

"It means something to do with gold." She tells him softly. She's still in his lap, he's still half-limp inside her. "I'll show you the book tomorrow. But it made me think about – about what you said, that first day we started to find our way back to each other. About happy Romans hanging out in fields of gold."

"In that case, it sounds perfect."

…...

Aurelia comes along at a most inconvenient time. Bellamy intends to tease her about that, when she's older.

Clarke goes into labour at three in the morning. Of course she does. It's frustrating, but it's hardly the most terrible thing that has ever happened to them.

Bellamy paces a lot, while he waits for Abby to let him in the delivery room. He paces the corridors of med bay, waits for news, tries desperately not to worry.

He doesn't pace alone. Octavia is the first to arrive, dragging a sleepy Jasper by the hand. They pace with him for a few minutes, reminding him to breathe, telling him how happy he and Clarke and Aurelia will be together when all this is over. The Miller shows up, saying with a shrug that he thought he might as well, seeing as Jackson is helping with the delivery.

It's when Murphy and Raven appear that things really start to get ridiculous. Wells turns up, too, and Monty and Harper and even Finn. Before he knows it, half the hundred are keeping him company as he paces the hallways of med bay. He thinks that, if he listens hard enough, he can even hear the ghost of Echo's grudging laughter.

Then the door opens, and Abby emerges.

"Come on in, Bellamy. _Just_ Bellamy." She says.

"Is Clarke OK?" He asks, panicked.

"She's fine. But she won't stop asking for you and I'm getting tired of it."

He grins. It seems there are special privileges that come with counting the Ark's head doctor as family. He strides joyfully past her, straight into the delivery room.

Needless to say, Clarke is not suffering in silence. She's groaning and ranting, and yet she smiles brightly at him when she sees him.

"Nice of you to show up." She huffs out in greeting.

He laughs. They've come a long way – teasing as she gives birth, rather than sobbing as she brings death.

He takes her hand, rubs his thumb over her knuckles. "It's good to see you too, Clarke. You doing OK?"

"Great." She says, half sarcasm, half pride.

He settles into his chair, and waits for it to be over. Clarke squeezes his hand hard, but he can deal with that. It reminds him a lot of Madi's funeral in many ways – saying goodbye to one daughter, saying hello to another. There's no way that Aurelia will replace Madi, and he'd be willing to fight anyone who suggested she ever could. But he thinks this is a good way of moving on, of taking their family forward into the future.

At last, it is over. There's a squealing baby in Abby's arms, a proud, tired grin on Clarke's face.

"Bellamy's holding her first." Abby informs them firmly. "It's nothing personal, Clarke. But you're exhausted and I don't want you dropping her."

"Overprotective grandmother." Jackson accuses her cheerfully.

Bellamy simply reaches his arms eagerly towards his daughter, takes the blanket-wrapped infant from Abby. It's a wonderful moment, this. He's held a newborn baby before, of course, because he's held his sister. But this is completely different. This is a bundle of joy he made with Clarke, a flash of gold light to chase away the darkness. And she comes with none of the anxiety that Octavia brought, either.

Aurelia is loved, and wanted. She's precious, and she's hope, and she's everything that is good in this life.

He can't quite believe it. He didn't think he could ever deserve happiness like this. He didn't think he could ever be allowed to love so freely again, as he now loves Aurelia and Clarke.

"Bring her here?" Clarke requests.

Yes. Of course. He mustn't hog the baby. He sits next to Clarke on the bed, reaches down to set Aurelia on her chest.

"Hello baby." She greets her softly. "Hello Aurelia. You're beautiful, aren't you?"

"It's a mouthful of a name." Abby comments, not unkindly.

"Rey for short." Bellamy suggests, stroking his perfect child's perfect forehead. "You like that, Rey? Our little Ray of sunshine."

Jackson and Abby slip away, and leave Bellamy and Clarke to speak nonsense to their newborn child.

…...

They go home the following day. Clarke is healthy, without complications, and anyway she's practically a doctor. Abby is perfectly confident that she is safe to leave med bay.

Bellamy fusses a little bit, but he doesn't complain. He wants Clarke and Aurelia at home, wants to start the next chapter of his life with them. He wants to go home to his favourite room in the world – or at least, it's his favourite now that he shares it with them. He wants to look at the familiar grey walls, and see new life and light in them.

He wants to know in his heart that he has truly left that ice-cold cave behind.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
